Like Rain in the Desert
by itzaboo
Summary: Definitely Huddy  House/Cuddy  - Begins at the end of the Season 6 Finale, "Help Me" - Please read and post your review but be kind. Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

Started this for a Huddy friend. Should only be a very short story but with some planned steamy scenes. The action begins at the end of "Help Me." Please read and review.

**Like Rain in the Desert**

How long had they stood together? The moments stretched out between them like miles of high desert roadway shimmering silver in the noonday sun, timeless and eternal.

Lisa Cuddy slowly became aware that her neck was beginning to ache from craning her head up, up to meet the softness of his lips, breathing in the warmth of his exhalation, the thrill that stirred within every fiber of her being at the rich closeness to the man for whom she had just confessed her love.

That he was bruised and covered in dust made no difference to her. He was here and so was she. She had found him. More importantly, she had found she needed him, that she wanted him, that she loved him.

Before this evening began, Cuddy had almost convinced herself otherwise. She was taking the safe route, engaged to a man who was pleasant but innocuous. There was no fire in her relationship with Lucas Douglas, no ardor. Lucas was as different from Gregory House as ice was to flame. And though she feared the heat of her passion for House, Cuddy had found that there was no refuge without him either. In fact, her heart could die within the icy grip of a false sense of security just as surely as it could be burned by the torture of loving a man bent upon his own self-destruction.

So she had thrown caution to the winds, forsaken what was safe for what she knew in her heart to be right. Cuddy had come to him as she had the first time they were together, with no expectations, only a love that could no longer be ignored or denied.

Once he had clasped her hand with his own, House had moved nothing save his lips and his tongue into the sweetness of her receptive mouth. The filth and anguish of this fate-filled night were blown away like sand by the wind at those two points of contact. They were the only places on his entire, battered body that House felt vital and alive. For the rest of him, there was an ache and a weariness, an overriding exhaustion of both his body and soul.

Except for that shadow of eventual collapse, House believed he could go on kissing her forever. He hadn't stopped since she said, "Then I think we're okay."

_We're okay. We. Us._ Her words continued to wash through his mind, cleansing her earlier condemnations and his own regrets and fears.

But her lips, her lips were his direct connection to the torrent of emotions flowing between them. If only they could go on kissing . . . perhaps that "we," that "us" could keep on going as well.

Cuddy eventually forced herself to pull away from him ever so slightly. She opened her eyes to see House already studying her with his even, azure gaze.

That look, those eyes so filled with both pain and hope in equal parts. Cuddy suddenly became weak in the knees and nearly surrendered her decision to say what needed to be said. But although she desperately wanted to stay locked in a never-ending kiss with House, she knew they both needed to get cleaned up. They needed rest and his shoulder wound required attention.

"House?" she said.

"Hmmm?" He closed his eyes again and began kissing her neck.

She faltered, once again losing her resolve as she closed her eyes and leaned into the heat of his breath, the warm moistness of his lips. Cuddy spoke slowly, as if she were in the brilliant haze of a drowsy summer's day.

"You should pack a few things, just for tonight. You need to clean up and I ought to have a look at your shoulder. You can call someone later to clean the glass from your bathtub."

She paused, attempting to master her rapid breathing, a response to his kissing and her own reckless longing to have him physically claim her then and there.

"In the meantime, you can shower and get some sleep at my place. There's even a jetted tub in the master bath. You could soak your leg and . . ."

"You had me at 'You should pack a few things,'" he whispered against her neck. He rose up once more, towering above her, a small, slight smile on his face. "I'll just be a few minutes," he said. Then slowly, regretfully, as if it were a herculean effort, he let go of her hand.

While he was in the bedroom, Cuddy stooped to pick up the Vicodin that House had dropped earlier. She hesitated. Quickly standing up again, she brushed the pills from her hand. She had come to him this morning, not as a babysitter, but as a lover. And just like her love, she needed to extend House her trust.

Cuddy realized that trust was not something you can put a limit on. If she truly loved House, she needed to trust him with the decisions he would make about his life. So far, his choices, even more than her own, had helped to lead them to where they were at this point in time. That thought made Cuddy smile with satisfaction as she walked toward the living room, waiting for him to finish packing, _waiting for him_, knowing that this time, her waiting would not be in vain.

House was smiling to himself as he threw a couple t-shirts into his backpack. Cuddy's spur-of-the-moment invitation was just what the doctor ordered. He was looking forward to the promised shower and anxious to try out her jetted tub, maybe with her joining him, if it was large enough. Most of all, he was looking forward to the prospect of sleeping in her arms.

Just as he was cramming a pair of jeans into his bag, he stopped and let out a long, slow breath. His heart was racing and his mind, plagued with questions to which he had no answers.

What if Cuddy didn't want anything else from him right now? She had, after all, just broken up with her fiancée. Maybe this whole night could be written off as just a crazy, emotional rollercoaster that, at some point, left the rails.

Cuddy had told him earlier, "I don't love you House." Now, she was saying she _did_ love him. Which was it? Maybe she simply pitied him for all his efforts to save Hannah?

Oh God, Hannah. House sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, the various aches and pains in his body were nothing compared to the anguish he felt in his heart. He'd meant what he had said to Foreman, the fact that he'd done everything right but Hannah had still died threatened to overwhelm him with the unbearable sorrow of injustice.

House felt breathless and alone in the middle of a windstorm of emotions. But there, just beyond the edge of the blinding dust and abrasive sands stood Cuddy, her arm outstretched in a gesture of hope. Salvation lay within him, if he would only take her hand.

This was what he wanted, _she_ was what he wanted, for so very long now. When she said that she wanted him, that she _loved_ him, he was going to have to trust that. He needed to trust her, trust that she knew what she was doing, trust that she would not hurl him back into a lonely desert of torture and despair.

He came out of the bedroom with his backpack and immediately took her hand again. He held it not unlike a love struck teenager, almost shyly, gingerly stroking across its surface with his thumb.

He let go of her hand when they came to her car but as soon as they got in, he interlaced his fingers with hers once more. They drove along silently as the morning sun freed her hair, its golden strands cascading through the grey streets of Princeton.

Half way to her condo, Cuddy glanced away from the road to look at House. His head was lolling to the side, his forehead leaning against the passenger window. His eyes were closed and his breathing had become regular and deep. Still, his thumb continued gliding back and forth across her hand so that even in sleep, he continued caressing her.

She swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat, countering the burning tears welling up in her eyes. They had come so close, so many times. Cuddy had wanted this for so long, had wanted this man beside her to stay near her, always.

His lure was like that of the moon upon the tides, constant and magnetic, forever beckoning. Yet for almost a year, she had denied her passion for him, especially to herself. She pushed him away, trying to lock her heart away from him. Each time she succeeded, it felt as if she lost another piece of herself.

Finally tonight, they hit an impasse and she brought forth a terrible lie. "I don't love you," she'd told him. Then she demanded he move on with his life. She'd said that he had nothing, no friends because both she and James Wilson had moved on with their lives, House had no one, nothing.

Her words had shattered him, just as surely as he had shattered his bathroom mirror.

And yet, it was in his very brokenness that he had become stronger and whole again. She witnessed the soul of the man whom she always knew was there. Her accusations this night had all proved false. None of what House said or did for Hannah had anything to do with Cuddy. They were all compassionate, heroic gestures to save his patient, to save Hannah.

That was when he gave in and let go. And that was when Cuddy had broken too. All the lies and deceit and pretenses that she had told herself over the past year had broken apart and came flooding out of her.

She gave way. Like storm clouds that crash into the high mountains releasing heavy rain into the desert, Cuddy could no longer hold back her tears of anger and frustration; because she could no longer hide them from herself.

She drove back to her condo and ended it with Lucas. There were more tears and angry words but he had gone.

Then she had sought out House. Could he forgive her? Could she forgive herself? No matter, she needed to try.

For the first time in many months she felt unburdened. The oppressive weight of lying to herself, of dating a man she didn't love to build a life with him, supposedly all for her daughter, and the most terrible falsehood, that she didn't love Gregory House, had all been lifted from her heart. Her lies had been washed clean this night, like rain washes away dust in the desert, allowing hope, like flowers, to bloom in its stead.

She parked the car in the small lot adjacent to her building and when she turned to look at him again, seriously debating whether to wake him up. The light of dawn shaded the angles of House's face in muted colors of pink and grey and yellow. His handsome high cheekbones were offset by a large bruise that had formed on one side of his face. A secondary collapse underneath the parking garage had formed the bruise just as it had marred his refined, straight nose with an angry red slash. His deep set eyes were framed by long, dark lashes and his kissable mouth remained slightly open as he steadily inhaled and exhaled.

Except for the cuts and bruises and dust, Gregory House looked like the boy she remembered from Michigan. And Lisa Cuddy suddenly felt as if she were that same girl from school with more than just a simple infatuation on the tall, lanky, funny, cocky, genius med student.

But Cuddy knew that reality, the here and now, must eventually intrude upon them. House still needed his shoulder attended to. He needed rest and she wanted sleep herself. She grudgingly removed her hand from his grasp and as she did so, she leaned into him, gently kissing his scruffy cheek.

Cuddy immediately felt his long eyelashes brush against her face as House awoke with a start. She leaned back, still looking at him as he blinked several times before looking to the side, registering the intensity of her oceanic gaze upon him.

"We're here," she said quietly.

"Hmmm," was all he was able to utter while rubbing his bloodshot blue eyes with the back of his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Cuddy's new condo was definitely "industrial loft" style with its gleaming hardwood floors and exposed brick and duct work. But House had eyes for none of that as he limped heavily through the hall on the way to the bathroom.

He had only two things on his mind, a shower and sleep. There was a third, preferred option but House knew that while the mind was willing, after the long night, his body was weak.

Cuddy approached her babysitter as House walked past her, ignoring the shocked-looking woman in his single-minded pursuit of water and rest. Cuddy saw Marina to the door and then caught up to House just as he limped through the entrance to the master bath.

As House fumbled for the switch, Cuddy stepped in front of him and confidently turned on the lights. She saw House's expression of giddy wonderment at the sheer size and luxuriousness of her bathroom. Beige marble tiles veined with blue covered the floors and walls. Small, cobalt-blue glass tiles decoratively inlaid throughout the room created a mosaic pattern in the walls of the shower and above the double sinks. The bathtub was fully jetted and huge, House saw that he could easily extend his entire tall frame in its length and have several more people as comfortably situated besides.

He sighed as he thought of those jets soothing the pain in his muscles and aching right thigh. And he smiled as his tired brain began to wake up to an idea that involved Cuddy and he sharing something else in that bathtub besides bathing when she broke the silence.

"There are extra towels in the linen closet. I'll go get you some. I assume you want to shower first and then I'll take a look at that shoulder."

House turned to nod in reply but she had already gone to retrieve the towels. As he limped to the glass-enclosed shower, he began stripping off his jacket and t-shirt. His muscles throbbed in protest and it felt as if his shoulder had started bleeding again while he lifted his arms, pulling the shirt over his head.

He closed his eyes and groaned in pain as he began to blindly undo his jeans. When he opened his eyes again, Cuddy was standing in front of him with a look mixed equally of worry and desire. She blushed when she saw the look that he returned, a gaze that burned with a potent hunger all its own.

Cuddy turned away and took her time re-folding the towels on top of the nearby vanity.

"All right," House said, "multiple shower heads! And a bench so I don't have to stand the whole time! This is gonna be _so_ good."

She turned back around to see House standing there with his jeans still on and his head sticking inside the shower. Cuddy smiled at his child-like enthusiasm. She stepped past him into the glass enclosure.

"Let me show you how this turns on," she said. Her right hand grasped the tap and turned it counter-clockwise. "It gets hot pretty fast so . . ."

Her words caught in her throat as she felt House's arms snake around her small waist, pulling her body close to his own. She stretched her head up and back to lean into his chest as House's left hand slid underneath the hem of her pink scrubs blouse.

Cuddy reached up with both hands to release her hair from its ponytail holder. Her raven-dark hair cascaded to her shoulders. House's right hand brushed the hair away from her neck as he began kissing her along her jaw.

"You were right, House said. "It got hot, fast."

Clouds of steam rose round them. Cuddy smiled, rolling her tongue along her cheek as she turned her eyes skyward.

"I should have known that you wouldn't need any help 'turning it on,'" she said.

"Whaddya know," House mumbled against her downy skin. "I caught a second wind."


	3. Chapter 3

Cuddy turned slowly in his arms to face him as House stepped to his right, guiding them under the steaming jets of water. She raised her arms to place them round his neck just as he tugged her top up and over her head. She moaned loudly into his hair as his lips made contact with her cleavage unclasping and removing her bra while pushing her back against the cool, slick tiles.

The hot water ran in rivulets through House's hair and down his face and chest. The wound on his shoulder was stinging and his right leg, excruciating. He was burning with both pain and relentless desire and he felt that at any moment he might scream in either agony or elation.

Cuddy felt his hands dip below her waist, relieving her of her drawstring pants and panties. Her hands immediately began undoing his jeans, returning the favor by dropping them, along with his boxers, wet and heavy to the floor.

House took a moment to step out of his clothes and as he did so, Cuddy opened her eyes and drank him in completely. The dust from the long night had been rinsed away and he was looking at her so intensely that she thought that she too might become liquid to melt and disappear down the shower's drain. Silver droplets of water clung to his eyelashes and his eyes were large and dark, perfectly matching the hue of the cobalt glass tiles surrounding them.

Wordlessly, House extended his left hand. Cuddy placed her palm into his, interlocking their fingers. He gently drew her to him once more and they stood under the water simply looking at each other.

After what seemed like hours but may have only been seconds, House leaned in to kiss her. It was like their first kiss this night, their first kiss ever. He was tentative, soft, restrained. It was as if all the time in the world was theirs and theirs alone to share and embrace and enjoy each other.

House let go of her hand and gently slid his long fingers across her back and down her torso seeking to thrill her, to pleasure her. Then she felt both his hands take hold of her hips and gently maneuver her onto the tile bench, kneeling against her as she reclined back, touching the wall.

No longer having to stretch up to meet his kisses, Cuddy now sat looking at him face to face. She closed her eyes again quickly as he continued to caress her, kissing down her neck, teasing and sucking at her nipples in an unhurried fashion. House's right hand found her again and with skillful fondling began to excite her once more.

Cuddy's breath came in gasps as she opened her legs wider and stretched them forward, wrapping them around House's hips, locking his body against hers. He sighed at feeling the closeness and heat from her body as well as the wetness that had nothing whatsoever to do with the running water.

House felt Cuddy push her body into him and he groaned at the increased contact. He needed to take her, to move inside her until they had achieved their own fluid rhythm. He softly pulled her head back, nipping and licking along her jaw down to her collarbone.

Her voice heavy with need, raspy with want, Cuddy spoke.

"Oh God House, I need you inside me. Please . . . please." She bit her lower lip in mild frustration.

House moved his hand from the back of Cuddy's head to her cheek, tenderly stroking her face. Her long, dark eyelashes fluttered open. House's gorgeous blue eyes were only inches away, staring at her, staring into her and through her.

This night he'd felt like he'd been lost at sea, Cuddy's eyes reflecting the blue and grey ocean threatening to overwhelm and drown him. But here he was now, with her. And what he had wanted for so long was now so close. All he need do was claim her, claim what was rightfully his.

As his yearning gripped him, so did his fear. He just needed to know they were still okay.


	4. Chapter 4

"Why?" he said, his voice sounding gravelly and hollow as it echoed against the tiles. "Why me? Why now? When you were so close to everything you always wanted, everything that you hold dear?" His eyes desperately searched her face for some clue, some hint that her emotions might betray to his quick and infallible analysis.

Cuddy raised her tear-filled eyes to his. She was struck by his uncertainty, his customary arrogance simply a ruse to safeguard his fragile heart. Now it seemed the shower had eroded his mask of pride, exposing him in a way that she had never witnessed before, in a way so pure and so bright that there were no longer any shadows for either one of them to hide. They were naked in a manner that had nothing whatsoever to do with their physical bodies, now clinging to one another in sustenance and vulnerability.

"Except for Rachel, everything that I hold dear," she said, "I'm holding in my arms right now."

House gazed at her for a long time, speechless, perhaps for the first time in his life.

Cuddy never flinched from his steady gaze, so full of longing, so full of desire and so full of . . . could it be? She couldn't believe her own eyes but it was there, there so clearly and so cogently that she nearly shrank from its awe-inspiring power. How could she have missed it; all this time, all these years?

Slowly, as if in a dream, House felt himself falling as if from a great height. He was falling for her, falling inside her, falling in love with her. He was both falling and standing on the outside, watching himself fall.

Hurtling through space and time, House acted solely on instinct.

He kept his eyes open and locked with hers as he methodically entered her, allowing her to become accustomed to his considerable length and width. When he felt completely enveloped by her body, he inhaled deeply, holding his breath.

House exhaled bit by bit and gently rocked forward; taking her mouth in his while he penetrated her more deeply. Cuddy was whimpering in pleasure and tightened her grip with her legs around his hips. She reached round him with her arms, feeling the ripples of his back muscles and tendons as he almost leisurely entered her and then drew back.

He placed his hands on the cool tiles on either side of Cuddy's neck to provide a better position with which to perform his ministrations and she immediately rewarded him with a gasp and a low moan which arced up into a higher pitch, becoming a cry.

She felt the waves of heat stirring through her and inside her as her thighs began to tremble. House was moving faster now and rotating his action as her hips met his, stroke for sensuous stroke. She was panting, her hot blood rising to her cheeks as she dug her nails into House's back.

House cried out in reaction to the flood of sensations. Cuddy's womb contracted, jerking her body up and forward. She screamed, a high-pitched, keening wail as her whole body shook with rolling intensity.

Cuddy's lungs inflated and collapsed, desperately searching for cool air to which they were denied within the steamy confines of the shower. As her breathing slowed, she felt the euphoric feeling of House's body still hard and fast, deep inside her. She opened her eyes wide, inhaling in surprise and wonder at his restraint.

House heard her wordless breath of surprise and opened his eyes. As Cuddy turned her eyes to look at him, a small, crooked smile spread across his face.

"You clever son-of-a-bitch," she said laughing.

"Is that a complaint?" he whispered against her neck.

Cuddy dragged her nails up his back and across his shoulders until her hands reached his lean face. Then she used her fingertips to tenderly trace his cheekbones, his eyelids, his nose, his lips. He hissed at her touch yet never broke the steady rhythm of his pulsating hips.

"Not at all," she whispered against his lips right before she plunged her greedy tongue into his mouth. It was his turn to moan as she brought her left leg up, resting her knee on his chest. The tighter angle brought him even deeper inside her as he felt his whole body contract with hers building toward their final, mutual climax.

The friction created between their bodies was glorious. Separately and yet in tandem, they each filled the other's aching need. As a harmonious piece of music builds, step-by-step, to its final crescendo, House and Cuddy synchronized their bodies into their one, breathtaking finale.

House was moving in and out of her now with strong, rapid strokes. Cuddy heard her own crashing orgasmic cry accompanied by a low rumbling undertone that she realized could only be emanating from House. She hadn't realized that she'd closed her eyes again, closed them when the cadence of her womb's contractions pushed her in mounting ecstasy toward the release of her second orgasm.

She opened her eyes again to look at him. As soon as she did, she began to ride another wave of sensual delight as her sex gripped his tighter with her increased arousal.

The muscles and tendons in House's arms, shoulders and neck were well-defined and taught against his pale skin. His head was thrown back and his lips were slightly parted in his own, ultimate cry of bliss. Cascades of water ran down his naked body, dripping onto her open thighs, her breasts and her shoulders.

Cuddy was quite sure that she had never before seen anything so gorgeously handsome, so erotically sexy as the sight of House, furiously pumping inside her now with all the focus and determination that were so inherently part of his character.

House felt Cuddy begin to quicken again so he kept going. The long night and his aching body were catching up to him. He let loose another yell, louder this time and colored with more than a little of the increased pain he was now feeling.

He heard her last scream turn finally into a satisfied series of moans. He knew then that he could give into his own climax and the tiredness that was threatening to envelop him.

Cuddy saw the tension in House's arms and shoulders relax as, with one final gasping groan he ejaculated and then rolled to the side, collapsing onto the wide tile bench. His eyes were closed as he continued panting for air. He looked exhausted and his shoulder wound had definitely opened up again.

"House?" she said after several minutes, "do you think you can make it to the bedroom?"

"Nope."

Cuddy smiled. "Won't you at least try?"

"Nope."

"What would you like me to do with you then?"

An evil, lopsided grin split his handsome features. He opened one eye to peer at her lewdly. "What did you have in mind?"

This time, Cuddy laughed out loud, the sound was bell-like, ringing against the tiles.

House closed his eye again. "Can't you just leave me here?" he said.

"Nope."

She saw House's face quirk a small, half smile.

"You are one demanding boss lady."

"Part of my charm."

"Can't argue with that. When will you be using the handcuffs on me?"

"I thought you were exhausted."

"Never THAT exhausted," he said as he quietly chuckled.

They both half-supported, half-dragged each other to the bedroom. Their skin erupted in gooseflesh as soon as the comparatively cooler air hit them.

House pulled on a fresh t-shirt and pajama bottoms while Cuddy opened a dresser drawer, taking out a short, lacy nightgown which she slipped over her naked body.

By the time she turned around, House had already crawled under the covers and begun snoring softly. She went over to the bed, saw that his shoulder was no longer bleeding and decided the bandage could wait a few hours.

She gently lifted the covers and snuggled next to him, casually throwing her right arm across his chest. The last thing Cuddy felt as her eyes closed was the feeling of House's hands on her arm, clasping it as a drowning man grabs hold of a life preserver.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to everyone who read and posted. Let's me know how I'm doing. Please continue to post your reviews. Thanks again.

Oh God, not again. It was all crashing in on him in an instant.

He was looking at her face, her lovely, trusting face and he felt the helplessness, the damned frustration, the sorrow, because there was nothing he could do. His eyes searched hers, as a sinner looks to his patron saint, for absolution.

Hannah's eyes shone back with supplication as her husband took her hand, yelling at him to do something. And then her eyes closed.

There was no longer any sound. No frantic gasps for life-giving oxygen. No sirens blaring as the ambulance raced through the dark streets of Princeton. No monitors buzzing. No husband screaming. No EMT asking for instructions. Just him and his own breath and this incredible pain in his leg and in his chest; the pain his only companions, alone in the darkness.

And Hannah, who had a husband who loved her, everything to live for . . .

House heard Dr. Nolan's voice ringing in his head, _"You caused him pain. If the world is a just place, you should suffer equally?"_

Yes, godammit, that's the way life should be. It should work out justly, fairly.

His vision became blurred. The scene shifted. It was lighter. He heard the sound and smelled the exhaust of a diesel engine. He looked up to see her, young, happy, everything to live for . . .

And then a sound, like an explosion and the world turned upside down. His cane flew from his grasp and the frantic pounding of his own heart mingled with the sounds of people screaming, brakes screeching, glass shattering and metal crunching.

Light and darkness, earth and sky, color and sound began whirling around him in a kaleidoscope of chaos.

But above the din, he heard her. Her scream of shock and fear. And need. He could hear her and only her. He looked up to see that she was just a few feet away. He stretched out his hand and locked it with hers, knowing that at any moment they would suddenly, jarringly come to a stop.

Then she was pulled away, her delicate hand wrenched from his grasp. He kept stretching his fingers toward her, he needed to protect her, to hold onto her. He had to reach her; almost, almost.

His head slammed into something solid and metal and the darkness overtook him once again.

"Young do-gooders in love" that's what she was. She should never have been on the bus with him that night. And she died too, instead of him.

It should have been him.

Perhaps it would have been him if Stacey had not interfered years ago. Maybe his own decision to ride out the pain would have been the death of him. Or maybe he would have gotten a fat embolism if they had amputated his leg. He would be dead instead of Hannah. And Amber would still be alive.

He would be dead, should be dead.

House opened his eyes. His breath was coming in short spurts. His face felt wet and for one paralyzing moment, he had no idea where he was.

And then Cuddy murmured in her sleep and sighed, tightening her grip across his chest. House echoed her sigh with one of his own and hugged her warm body closer to himself.

So it was true. All that had happened in the last 18 hours had really happened. And he was with her now. He didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve to feel good and needed so soon after Hannah had needed him. And he had failed her.

House realized the wetness on his cheeks was fresh, not from the shower that he and Cuddy had shared a few short hours ago. It must have been a few hours judging by the aches in his body and increased light through the blinds. He continued to stare at the ceiling because turning his head might wake the sleeping Cuddy whose face was pressed against his neck.

He could feel her warm breath brush his skin. House swallowed the tight lump in his throat and inhaled deeply through his nose. The lump in his throat remained and had expanded into a heavy weight that sat upon his chest. He knew he wasn't good enough for Lisa Cuddy, anyone could see that. But he couldn't help himself. He loved her. Somehow, his heart ached for her and he felt helpless to stop it.

Helplessness seemed to be the latest theme in the overreaching despair that had become his very existence; helplessness and pain. And selfishness. Because House had already decided, before he made love to her, before he had gotten into her car, before he had even packed his bag to leave his apartment that he would not deny himself this, the one thing, the one person in all the world whom he knew he wanted.

House knew he was working against time and his own predilection toward self annihilation. He also knew that the next time he went down, he could very well drag Cuddy down with him. Like a deadly flashflood in the desert, she could be swept away, destroyed simply by the fact that she was standing too close to him, too close to the edge.

But he was tired of fighting it. Tired of fighting everything, including his own emotions and hers. And as he slowly closed his eyes, feeling the last tears welling up in their corners, he knew he had finally given in to all of his own selfish needs; his need to be less miserable, his need to not be alone anymore, his need to be loved and finally, his need for sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Even in sleep, she could hear the familiar burbling. Rachel's morning murmurings were broadcasting through the baby monitor on the nearby nightstand.

Cuddy gradually became aware of herself and of her surroundings. Her face was close to something because she could feel her own breath returning after each exhale.

She opened her eyes. So it was true. All that had happened in the last 18 hours had really happened.

She had seen House fight like a lion for his patient . . . and lose. She had ended her pretense of a relationship with Lucas and returned to House's apartment. She had brought him back here to her own place and they had made love.

A slow smile spread across her face as she remembered their time in the shower; the shower in the master bath that she fell in love with as soon as she saw the condo. She realized now that she must have been thinking of House all along when she purchased her new home, even though she thought she had planned on living with Lucas at the time.

Yes, House was on her mind when she first saw the master bath and knew she belonged there. The beautiful cobalt blue tiles that perfectly matched his eyes, the large bathtub where he could comfortably soak his leg and the wide bench in the shower where he could easily rest . . .

The tile bench . . . wide enough for two. She saw very clearly now that she was thinking of House when she first saw that. And only a few hours ago, he had made it worth her while as they joined together so perfectly reclining on it. She shivered with pleasure at the recollection.

She knew it was wrong to make comparisons but she found herself doing so anyway and smiling against the neck of the man who won preferential status. Not only was House more physically endowed than Lucas but he was also more talented, deliberate, focused and altruistic.

Sex with Lucas had been pleasant, comfortable. But sex with House was like . . . well if Lucas was a single bottle rocket then House was more like the entirety of the Macy's Fourth of July Fireworks Spectacular, including two grand finales.

Her body suddenly felt empty. A twinge well below her navel reminded her of how well House had filled her, physically and emotionally.

Cuddy leaned toward his cheek and gently nuzzled him, breathing in his scent. She kissed him and lay her head back down. As she licked her lips, savoring his taste, she realized there was a salty tang to his skin as well.

She looked at his face and saw the indistinct tear tracks that stained his cheeks. For the second time in the past few hours, she felt her heart break for the man lying next to her, his chest rising and falling soothingly with his deep, even breaths.

Why did he feel so much but reveal so little? Could he ever feel safe enough with her to know that he could trust her with anything, with everything? Not only his brilliant mind but his fragile heart?

Her thoughts about House and their future were interrupted by a new series of babblings coming from the baby monitor. Cuddy carefully slid away from House, so as not to wake him, got up and made her way to Rachel's room.

Her daughter was lying in the crib, apparently fascinated with her own toes. She was grasping them with her chubby fingers and wiggling them against her hand, giggling with delight.

Cuddy scooped the little girl up, giving her a bear hug before placing her on the changing table and wrapping her bottom in a fresh diaper. She had just put her daughter on the floor to choose her clothes from the drawer when she heard her cell phone ringing.

Following the sound, Cuddy found her purse in the living room where she had dropped it hours before and retrieved the phone from one of the purse's deep pockets.

She didn't even look at the caller ID before saying, "Hello?" into the mouthpiece.

"Lisa. I've been so worried about you. The Trenton building collapse has been all over the television and I knew . . ."

"I'm okay Mom," Cuddy replied. "It was a long night but we were able to save a lot of people down there. Can you hang on a minute?"

Cuddy realized that she had taken her attention off the very fast-moving toddler that she lived with, never a good idea. As she strode down the hallway, she paused to look in at Rachel's room. No Rachel.

She turned quickly, heading toward the master bedroom. Opening the door a bit further, her sight fell on her small daughter who had managed to pull herself up far enough to look over the edge of the bed. She was now face-to-face with the still sleeping House.

"Rachel, honey, no!" Cuddy hissed desperately.

Rachel looked at her mother. Her eyes widened and took on a defiant glare as she reached out a small hand and slapped House on the nose, shrieking with delight.

"Ow! What in the hell . . .?"

"I'm sorry House. Rachel, come over here now!"

Cuddy could hear her phone buzzing in her hand like an angry wasp. She put the receiver up to her face once more.

"Lisa, what's going on? Is Rachel okay? Did you say House?"

"Yes Mom, everything's fine. Can I call you back in a few minutes?"

"Is that Gregory House? The man who called me about your desk?"

"Yes Mom," Cuddy could think of nothing else to say. Reminders of the desk that House had romantically gotten out of storage for her left her tongue-tied.

"Well, I think you _better_ call me back. Because I want to hear everything. Love you dear, goodbye."

"Goodbye Mom," Cuddy said as she clicked the phone shut.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you everyone for your kind reviews. Please keep posting. It really means a lot.

"I think somebody's little diapered butt needs a good paddling," House growled. He opened his eyes and focused on his nearby assailant.

Rachel stopped giggling. She stared at House with an expression of wonder on her round little face.

"What are you looking at? Don't tell me this is the first time you've seen some strange in Mommy's bed."

"House!"

Rachel looked from House to her mother and back again. "Ows!" she said triumphantly, echoing her mother's cry.

"Oh God. _It_ talks."

"House!"

"Ows!"

"Oh for the love of . . . Make it stop. Please make it stop!"

Rachel squealed with laughter and then in frustration and anger as Cuddy came over to where she stood and unceremoniously picked her up. Her wailing increased in both volume and pitch as she pushed against her mother's chest, trying to escape her clutches.

"This is worse. What're you doing?"

"She needs to be fed," Cuddy said, raising her voice above the din. And I need to call my mother back and then grab a shower because I planned on taking Rachel over to her house today."

"Really? Is that a _new_ plan?" House asked as he sat up, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands.

She plainly saw the implied questions underlying his simple query. _"Did you make special arrangements for me? Are you making room in your life for me, for us? Am I that important to you?"_

Cuddy smiled which seemed out of place with the squirming, fussing child in her arms. "Yes. It's a new plan. I thought you might like to spend a little time alone together."

House looked at her somberly. "Here, give me the kid."

"Why? What are you going to do with her?"

"Well I'm NOT going to put her down the garbage disposal if that's what you're worried about. Unless she doesn't stop that damned screaming!"

"House!"

"Ows!"

House slowly stood up and held out his arms. "Gimme. I'll go feed her while you go do what you've gotta do."

Cuddy handed over her child who stopped crying as the distance closed between her and House.

"Are you sure about this House?"

"Ows!"

House took hold of Rachel. "No. She barfed on me the first time we met. But I guess we can only go up from there."

Cuddy looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears of gratitude. "Thank you House."

"Ows!"

"Her food is on the right side of the second shelf in the refrigerator. Just nuke it for two minutes and then stir it up. And make sure it's not too hot."

"I went to med school ya know. I think I can figure out how to feed this thing."

"House . . ."

"Ows!"

". . . compared to '_this thing,_'" she said as she lovingly kissed his cheek and then the top of her daughter's head, "med school was a breeze."

"Oh oh."


	8. Chapter 8

Dear readers,

Thank you for your patronage and especially, your posted reviews. Please be advised that the following chapter contains a description of child abuse. If you do not wish to read it, the synopsis is as follows:

House has a flashback to his childhood as he's feeding Rachel.

Not for the faint of heart. You have been warned.

House carried Rachel toward the kitchen while Cuddy stayed in the bedroom to return her mother's phone call. Thankfully, Rachel had stopped her squirming during the Cuddy-to-House handoff making it slightly easier for him to balance her weight against his injured right leg as he loped down the hall.

When he reached the kitchen, he placed the wriggling Rachel in her high chair even though she seemed to have sprouted four more limbs in her struggle to keep clinging to him.

"Yeah, I know I'm irresistible," he said as he secured her into her chair, "But you're going to have to sit there for the time being while I get you more diaper fodder."

When he spoke, Rachel stopped fussing and stared at him with her wide brown eyes.

"And don't think you can pull that crap with me either. That won't work on me for at least another 16 years or so."

House turned to the refrigerator and found the container of food that Cuddy mentioned.

"Egh," he said as he removed the lid, scrunching his nose. "This stuff looks like you already ate and processed it. Is mommy recycling your diaper doo?"

Rachel continued to gaze at him in awe. He placed the food in the microwave and when the timer went off he turned toward her with the food and a spoon. Her large brown eyes met his blue ones and she immediately started giggling and jabbering.

"Okay," House said as he dipped the spoon into the food and put it near Rachel's mouth. "Let's see what you do with this."

What she did was frantically shake her head back and forth sending the food and spoon flying out of his grasp.

"Dammit," he said as he bent to pick up the spoon, turning to wash it off in the sink. Rachel let forth with a whole new series of babbling, liberally sprinkled with her squeals of laughter.

"C'mon kid, cut me a break." House tried again but was more prepared this time as he was able to hold onto the spoon. The food, however, never made it any nearer to Rachel's mouth.

"Dammit kid, don't waste this stuff. Eat it!"

"_Goddammit, I won't have food being wasted in my house! I don't care how long you have to sit there. You're gonna eat what's on your plate. Now eat it!" _

The voice sounded so close and so real that House briefly turned his head to look behind him for its source. His eyes glazed as he gradually remembered that voice and who it was that had spoken to him that way.

Young Gregory House had been relieved to make it to the dinner table on time that evening. He had been late the night before and consequently, had been ordered to go to his room without any supper.

His relief at finally quieting his growling stomach soon turned to anxiety, however, as he saw what his mother had made to accompany the meatloaf. They lurked near his mother's right hand in a large, stoneware bowl; the dreaded lima beans.

His father said grace, and Greg considered himself lucky not to have been caught with his eyes open. But his luck was soon to run out when his careful avoidance of the beans was noticed by his father. As a result, his father heaped three large spoonfuls upon Greg's plate. And then, even though he had not taken them himself, his father demanded he clean his plate.

"_John, maybe he's just full . . ."_

"_I won't have it Blythe. I won't have this kind of ingratitude and waste in MY house. Not from MY son."_ John House turned once more to the now stony-faced boy. _"You're gonna clean that plate if it's the last thing you do."_

Greg recognized the quieter pitch his father had adopted along with its malevolent undertone. But Greg House, though young, was nothing if not stubborn and had already made up his mind that he was NOT going to eat those lima beans.

John grabbed his spoon and scooped up a large amount of the offending vegetable. _"Eat it! Boy, if you know what's good for you, you'd better open your goddamn mouth!"_

"_John!"_

"_Blythe, leave the kitchen!"_

"_But . . ."_

"_Now!"_

His mother avoided Greg's eyes as she reluctantly rose and left the table. He could hear her heels hitting the tiled floor and the door to her bedroom close behind her. The last vestiges of hope left his heart, just as abruptly as his mother had left him alone with his father.

"_Now, it's just you and me," _his father said in a dangerous whisper._ "And you don't have your mother here to hide behind her skirts like a little sissy boy."_

Greg felt his face flush with anger. "I'm not a sissy . . ." But his words were cut short, for as soon as he opened his mouth to speak, his father shoved the bean-filled spoon past his lips, scraping the utensil roughly against his teeth.

"_Swallow it!"_

Greg sat there frozen, holding the beans in his cheeks. Okay, so his father had gotten the limas into his mouth. But the fight wasn't gone from his young frame yet. He could sit there all night if need be. He just wasn't going to swallow those beans.

"_Don't you dare move from this table,"_ his father said through gritted teeth.

He stood up and left the kitchen. Greg's blue eyes shone with confusion as they followed his father out of the room. In a few minutes, John was back and taking something, a lot of somethings actually, out of the freezer. Then he walked out again.

When he finally returned to the kitchen a second time, John resumed his seat at the table with his son. _"Did you swallow those beans yet?"_

Greg's answer was to puff out his cheeks and glare at his father.

"_By God, I will not have a belligerent little smart ass in my house!"_

Lightning fast, John slid the heavy bowl of lima beans in front of his son, grabbed the back of the boy's neck and shoved his face down into the bowl. When Greg raised his head, he could feel the sticky, warm blood pouring from his nose, turning the green mush that he was spitting out of his mouth, dark red.

John House grabbed his son by the neck and lifted him out of his chair. Greg grabbed his father's arm, punching and clawing at him as he felt himself being dragged out of the kitchen and down the hall. He was kicking wildly at the air as his father held him aloft and he felt his father's free hand slap him several times about the face, connecting with his nose and causing the blood there to spurt anew.

The pressure against his windpipe and the loss of blood was blurring Greg's vision. Everything had become bright and golden, like the warm Egyptian sun. He stopped moving his arms and legs as they became uncoordinated and heavy, as if large weights had been tied to his hands and feet.

Right before he blacked out, his father released his grip, dropping him to the bathroom floor. Greg shook himself against the cool tiles, coughing frantically.

His father began grabbing at him but Greg was still too disoriented to resist. Before he had caught his breath, he felt himself being lifted again. As the cool air hit his flesh, he realized that his father had stripped him of his clothes.

There was no time for him to react before he was suddenly plunged into the frigid bathtub. The ice cubes in the cold water hit his body and his only response was to suck a huge amount of air into his lungs. He tried to scream just as his father's hand pushed him beneath the water.

The freezing water felt like a thousand needles, a thousand knives stabbing him everywhere over his entire body. Greg intensified his pounding fists and kicking feet, desperate for his father to free him, desperate for warmth and light, desperate for air in his aching lungs.

Just as he became limp and was about to black out, his father raised his head, only his head, from the surface of the water. Greg gasped gratefully at the air.

"_Are you gonna do as I say?"_ his father said.

Greg was too busy breathing and sputtering to reply. Without warning, his head was pushed underwater again. Just like before, right at the point that he was going to lose consciousness, his father raised his head from the bath.

"_Are you gonna obey me?"_ his father asked.

This time, Greg's teeth had begun to chatter uncontrollably and he was unable to form a reply. He couldn't stop his father from pushing his head below the water's surface again.

Painful though it was, Greg kept his eyes open. The water and the ice created a weird mosaic above him as light, color and sound all became muted. The only thing he could see was his father's glowering face, weirdly distorted by the water. The only things he could hear were the ice tapping against the sides of the bathtub and the furious pounding of his own heart.

And the only thing that was clear to him was that if he didn't answer this next time, his father would probably kill him.

When his face was lifted from the water again, and the familiar question repeated, Greg immediately nodded his head. That gave him a little more time to try and catch his breath before his father said, _"Yes? Yes what?"_

"_Y-y-y-es s-s-s-s-ir,"_ Greg spluttered.

His father's grip slackened and he let him go. Greg was barely able to grab onto the side of the tub before he slipped back into the chilling water. His father walked out, slamming the bathroom door behind him just as Greg dragged his shivering, freezing body out of the water.

That was the first time, the first of many ice baths he would be forced to take for his spirited defiance of his father's authority.

"Ows!"

House snapped himself back to reality. He looked up at Rachel who had taken matters into her own chubby hands and had begun feeding herself from the bowl. Granted, it seemed like there was more food on her chair, tray, hands and face than she had probably ingested but she was happily chattering away to herself and now to him as he looked at her.

House gave the child a slow, sad smile. "Yeah kid. Your way _is_ better."


	9. Chapter 9

"Hello, Mom?"

"Lisa?" There was a long pause. "Honey, tell me what happened. What's going on?"

Cuddy sat heavily on the bed. She had put on her terry cloth robe before she called her mother. She wrapped her legs in the long material and tucked them underneath herself as she sat down. Then she nervously began to play with the frayed belt.

She was not in the habit of talking to her mother; particularly about anything even faintly to do with her love life. Yet her mother had met Lucas, had assumed they were going to get married.

Her mother had been the one to say it first. "Lisa, that man's serious! He's going to ask you to marry him." And that was only after she'd first met Lucas.

"How long have you got Mom?"

"For you Lisa, all the time you need."

Cuddy smiled. It had not always been this way between her and her mother.

From the beginning, the family divided themselves into two teams. Her mother and her sister were one faction, her father and herself were the other. Lisa had never been able to break into the girl's club that satisfied itself with its exclusive membership of two. So she had become more of her father's daughter, independent and successful in her male-dominated professional world.

But then, her father had passed away and she was left completely alone for the first time in her life. That was when her mother stepped in. She began calling Cuddy every day to see how she was and to ask about Rachel.

The phone calls were curiously devoid of what Lisa expected. Forgotten were the old arguments and meddlesome advice over men and lifestyle. Instead of nagging and maternal prying, her mother now offered the kind of supportiveness that one would receive from an old friend who had reconnected after a long absence. They talked for what seemed like hours about friends, hobbies, travel and her father and how much he was dearly missed.

Lisa cherished these talks. And now, she hoped to have the same level of depth and sharing that she had grown accustomed to. She also hoped, though she would never admit it, not even to herself, for a little motherly advice.

"Mom?" Cuddy started and then she felt her throat close up. She choked out a few sobs, desperately trying to get a hold of herself.

"I'm here sweetheart. I'm still here."

There was a long silence, while Cuddy continued to whimper and sniff. Her emotions and everything that happened seemed to all, finally, run together like a chalk drawing left out in the rain.

And then her mother said, "You really love him don't you?"

Cuddy nearly dropped the phone. Her mother couldn't know, couldn't be talking about . . .

"You mean Lucas?"

"No, of course not. I mean Greg House."

"How did you . . .?"

"Lisa, sometimes you're not as inscrutable as you think you are."

"How long have you known?"

"Hmmm, that's hard to say. I'd have to say that when you first started seeing Lucas, that erased the doubts from my mind."

"But . . . you're saying you knew that I was in love with House while I was dating Lucas? How? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Darling, love is something you have to figure out all on your own. No one else can tell you what to feel or how much you feel it."

"But how . . . ?"

Her mother sighed. "I've known you all your life Lisa. That was the first time that I ever saw you consciously settle for second best. And it was making you miserable."

"But we were going to get married, we got engaged . . ."

"Oh I would have said something long before the actual wedding. I promised myself that I wouldn't interfere in your personal life but that doesn't mean that I wouldn't have at least attempted an intervention. And you and I both know that you would never have let it get that far anyway."

This time it was Cuddy's turn to sigh. "But I _was_ engaged to Lucas."

"But now you're not, right?"

Cuddy smiled. Her last tears trickled down to her chin where they dropped silently onto her fluffy robe.

"But how did you know that . . . why do you think I'm in love with House?"

"Lisa honey. Wouldn't you rather hear how I know that he's in love with you?"

Cuddy did drop the phone this time. It fell into the wide folds of her robe and she leaned sideways, extending her legs off the bed in her scramble to pick it back up.

When she had the phone back in her hand, she breathlessly said into the receiver, "What did you say?"

"I said, 'Would you like me to tell you how I know that he's in love with you?'"

Cuddy leaned back on the bed, smoothing out the front of her robe as she did so. She could hear House's low voice and Rachel's peals of laughter coming from the kitchen as House fed her daughter her breakfast. She could feel the warmth of her own body, still enveloped in the full satisfaction from this morning's session of love-making. And she could hear the loving, reassuring voice of her mother speaking in her ear as she said, "I've been lucky in my life Lisa. I loved a man who truly loved me. And once that happens, a woman can recognize it in anyone else she meets. Gregory House came to me to get your desk out of storage. And when I met him, I knew I was looking into the eyes of a man that was hopelessly in love . . . with you Lisa. He's in love with you."


	10. Chapter 10

As Cuddy finished making arrangements with her mother to watch Rachel, she heard the sound of Rachel's giggling and jabbering drawing closer. When she hung up the phone and stepped off the bed, House came through the door carrying Rachel over his shoulder not unlike a sack of potatoes.

"Why did you tell me to feed her? I think it just gave her an energy boost. At this rate, she'll keep going for the half life of uranium 238."

"Why are you comparing my daughter to a radioactive isotope?"

House looked at her, a slight smile curving his mouth. "Force of habit. Besides, after what she just ate, I'm sure that what comes out in her diaper WILL be toxic." He glanced at Rachel, smirking, "_And_ glow in the dark."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Oh House."

"Ows!"

"Seriously, can you get her to stop that? I mean, haven't you at least tried to teach her how to talk and not just parrot everything? Or is this her Forrest Gumpian way of telling you that she'll be taking the short bus to school?"

Cuddy held out her arms. "Give her back. The last thing I need is for you to give her some sort of complex."

"Complex? Me? The only thing I was going to do was teach her a couple of dirty songs. She's already so good at mimicking . . ."

"Don't you dare!" Cuddy said as she wrestled her daughter from him, finally breaking the vice-like grip Rachel had on House. The child's immediate response was to begin crying. For the first time, Cuddy was able to take in Rachel's mush covered face and hands.

"Good Lord! Couldn't you have washed her off after she ate? It looks like you let her swim in her breakfast!"

She noticed something click behind House's eyes, like a look of sorrow, before he changed to a more neutral expression and answered, "We both decided that she was happiest feeding herself. If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

"You could have at least wiped off her hands and face!"

"You only told me to feed her," House said as Cuddy took Rachel into the bathroom to clean her up. He raised his voice so she could still hear him. "You didn't say anything about cleaning duties. I'd have to charge you extra for those anyway. And I don't do windows!"

Cuddy appeared in the doorway again with a wriggling Rachel and a damp washcloth that she was applying to Rachel's hands and face. She sat down on the bed to gain better access to her fidgeting child.

"It would have taken you just a few minutes . . . and what charges?"

House sidled in next to her, leaned in and kissed her neck before whispering in her ear, "Even though windows are out, I _am_ willing to clean your clock . . . again. That's my standard fee."

A surreptitious smile split Cuddy's face. "Well played sir. I think we can come to some sort of arrangement."

She turned her face toward him, lightly brushing her lips against his before her daughter's movements interrupted their kiss.

"Okay. How do we lose the rugrat so I can ravage you some more?" House said.

"My mother just agreed to keep her for a couple of days." She turned to her daughter, "Do you wanna go visit gamma?"

House frowned. "Gamma?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes and sighed. "If you take her in and put her down for a short nap, I can take my shower and get ready to go."

"Is she gonna sleep? She seems a little wound up to me. Kinda like her mom." He put a hand on her thigh and began inching upward. "I know how to unwind you."

Cuddy sighed, "Smart ass."

Rachel looked up at her mother. "Ass."

House nearly fell off the bed, howling with laughter.

"House!"

"Ows! Ass!"

Now it was Cuddy's turn to laugh.

House took hold of Rachel as Cuddy handed her off to him. "No! It's 'House is a sex god'."

"Ows dod."

"Close enough. C'mon kid, your mommy has to get naked and shower so she can pretend to 'gamma' that she hasn't already had sex." He limped quickly through the bedroom door before Cuddy could retort.

Left alone once more in her bedroom, Cuddy walked into her closet and began choosing her clothes for the day. When she finished laying out what she wanted to wear on the bed, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

It wasn't until after she took off her robe that she remembered she had left her new, scented lotion in her top dresser drawer. She slipped the robe back over her shoulders and loosely tied the belt around her waist as she opened the door to her bedroom.

She was halfway to her dresser when she heard an unfamiliar sound. She turned to find its source and realized that the sound was coming from Rachel's baby monitor on her nightstand.

Cuddy nearly had to pinch herself as she walked toward the nightstand in the sudden comprehension that what she was hearing was singing. And not just any singing, it was House singing.

"He better not be teaching her anything dirty," she said to herself.

His voice was low but the words came clearly through the monitor in a baritone so smooth that it made her stop in her tracks with the pleasant shivers that ran up and down her spine. House was singing her daughter to sleep with a lullaby that she recognized from somewhere that she could not place. It was familiar, yet sad, soothing and poignant.

"A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain  
Softly blows o'er Lullaby Bay  
It fills the sails of boats that are waiting  
Waiting to sail your worries away

It isn't far to Hushabye Mountain  
And your boat waits down by the quay  
The winds of night so softly are sighing  
Soon they will fly your troubles to the sea

So close your eyes on Hushabye Mountain  
Wave goodbye to cares of the day  
And watch your boat from Hushabye Mountain  
Sail far away from Lullaby Bay."*

When he'd finished singing, House continued to hum the tune. Cuddy placed her hand over her mouth, trying to restrain the emotions that were churning inside her slight figure. She quickly turned to go back into the bathroom, not wanting to interrupt the moment between House and Rachel. And not wanting House to find out that she had heard, heard him sing to Rachel in an attempt to comfort her daughter.

Her face was wet before she stepped under the shower's spray. One of the main reasons she had tried so hard to make her relationship with Lucas succeed was because of her belief that House would never accept her child. And here he was, showing a side that she had rarely seen before, a kindness and gentleness usually hidden by a boisterous arrogance and deflection.

How could this be true? How could she have known the man all these years yet never really known him?

Cuddy began to feel the heavy weight that her decisions in the past 24 hours meant, not only for her and her daughter, but for House as well. It slowly began to dawn on her that she was being selfish, that by choosing to go to House she had not only risked Rachel's and her own heart but House's as well.

House's thick external armor shielded himself from the damage that others might cause to his fragile heart. But since he had let her and Rachel in, the possibility of inflicting serious injury upon him was very close, very real and oh so terribly frightening.

Now she knew, there were no doubts left in her mind that House and she had moved onto very dangerous ground. Their new relationship, still in its infancy, was in fact a very desperate gamble for all of them, they had so much to gain but everything to lose. And it could lead to their mutual salvation or their complete annihilation.

_*A lullaby from the movie "Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang"_


	11. Chapter 11

Rachel blinked slower and slower, finally giving in to sleep by draping her long eyelashes over her large brown eyes. The blissful expression on her face as she drifted off reminded House of how tired he still was from all the events of the past 24 hours. House's eyes began to mimic Rachel's, blinking more slowly as he limped back into the bedroom.

He passed the bathroom and heard the shower still running. House imagined a very wet, very steamy and very sudsy Cuddy and he momentarily considered a repeat performance of early this morning. As he turned his attention toward the door to the master bath however, his right thigh suddenly locked up mid-stride. He was barely able to hobble over to the bed as he fell forward, grunting in pain.

His hands began to massage the knotted muscle while he blinked back the tears that had sprung unbidden to his eyes.

What on earth was he doing? He was a train wreck of a human being, both emotionally and physically. How was he going to take on all the responsibilities that came with a relationship with a single mother? Hell, he wasn't happy himself, how was he supposed to make Cuddy and Rachel happy?

He had asked Cuddy if she thought he could fix himself because he wasn't sure if he _could_ fix himself. Lately it seemed that he was completely unfixable.

And he was completely serious when he told Cuddy that he was "the most screwed up person in the world." Her response had been to tell him that she knew all of that but that she loved him, even though she wished she didn't. Which would prove stronger in the end, her love or her wishes?

So far, until last night, she'd chosen her wish, her dream to live a normal life, have a child, get married. Now she had reversed gears and chosen him. House knew he could provide none of those things. So how long would it take Cuddy to come to that realization and return, once again to her dream, forsaking the love that she said she felt for him?

The tension in his leg began to abate somewhat as he continued to massage his thigh. His childhood memory of his first ice bath had shaken him to his very core. And this was only the first day of his new relationship with Cuddy and her daughter. What other horrors would he remember with continued, constant exposure to the two of them? Would he unconsciously take any of that out on Rachel?

Tears once again filled his eyes that had nothing to do with his aching right thigh. He'd already become too close to her. He felt Rachel's chubby little hands wrap round his heart as she looked up at him with such an innocent expression. She trusted him immediately and entirely as she kept saying his name over and over while he fed her, sang to her.

Had he at one time looked at his father the same way? Had his own father ever felt protective of him or had he only seen his son as a lump of clay, to be molded and forced into the shape that he desired thereby betraying his son's innocent confidence in him?

What the hell had he been thinking? Had he suddenly become a wuss like Wilson and gone all sappy for Cuddy's little rugrat? Was it really worth the effort of opening his heart to Cuddy and her child for just some good sex? Okay, great sex.

But it was so much more than that. House felt it, knew it. He could not simply write off his feelings, or Cuddy's for that matter, as simple lust needing to be released. Like two battle-weary warriors, they had fought, for years, until last night when their fighting and retreats ended in a standstill. There was no victor. Only two people that had risked everything, lost everything and then found everything . . . in each other.

And House knew that no matter what, he could not give her up. He had come too far, wanted and needed her for too long, loved her. Was that the word? More importantly, was that the feeling?

He searched his heart. He felt so old, so tired, so beaten down by life and logic. House was not sure if he was even capable of love any more. He was not sure if he wanted to be.

People did stupid things when they were in love or even when they thought they were in love. Cameron and Chase's brief marriage, Foreman and Thirteen's equally brief affair, Wilson and Sam . . . were all evidence of that.

House considered himself lucky not to have been sucked into the vortex of unreasonable decision-making that came with allowing your emotions to run away with your brain. Love was just an excuse. Like the alcoholic who blames whiskey for his misdeeds, lovers blamed love for the invisible free pass they felt it gave them to chain down another person and remake them into whom they thought the other should be.

There was no unconditional love, not to House. As a rational person, having never seen it, he simply could not believe it existed. But hadn't Cuddy come to him last night without reservations? Hadn't she given him the choice to take the pills or not, to accept her love or not?

The truth of the matter was that the choice had been his. Cuddy's love allowed him to make his own decisions, just as she had made her own. She broke things off with Lucas without knowing what his reaction to her would be, before they had even started a relationship.

And that's what frightened House. He knew his choices in the past left a lot to be desired. He pushed the envelope again and again, pushing relationships, friendships, until they broke. House simply didn't believe, deep within his very soul, that he deserved love, particularly by the people whom he loved. And that belief was the foundation that supported his actions to reject his own feelings and deny others the chance to get too close and injure him.

House half-closed his eyes. He felt so . . . lost. And afraid. He was afraid of losing himself and what made him special. He was afraid of remembering too much, feeling too much and the despair that would bring. He was afraid that he wasn't enough, would never be enough physically and emotionally for Cuddy and her daughter. And he was afraid that when that realization finally struck Cuddy, he would no longer be able to survive without her as she eventually walked away.

All of these thoughts clambered for his attention as he gradually began to drift off. Sleep did not come easily but came gratefully. Yet the dreams that came to him while he slept were as torturous as his waking reflections.


	12. Chapter 12

Clouds of steam rose like morning mist in the mountains as Cuddy reluctantly turned off the shower. She had shrouded herself under the searing spray for much longer than she had originally intended. It was there that she could think, that she could hide from the consequences of her most recent actions and the rising guilt from her wasted past.

To continue to cloak herself from her own thoughts and emotions may have been strangely satisfying but hardly a progression. And in truth, she had done more than enough of that, particularly within the past year.

House's breakdown a year ago had frightened her. She had always assumed that they would continue their unique private dance, at times he would lead and she, follow. At other times, she would chart their movements.

But when House fell over the edge, it was if the invisible cord that had always connected them had snapped. Cuddy found herself lost for the first time in many years, as if he had been her compass and she could no longer find her way without him. And the idea that she may have contributed, even indirectly by her own ignorance of his downward spiral to his eventual collapse ate at her very soul.

How could they move on? How would they build a life together? Could they ever put the past behind them?

They seemed to forever be caught in a series of missed opportunities and misunderstandings, never on the same level at the same time. That is until last night. Neither of them could go any lower, stripped of everything they both held dear; House of his problem-solving ability and herself of her fortitude in facing the truth.

Cuddy forced herself back to the present, back from the culpability of past mistakes. They neither of them had a very good track record. Yes, last night they reached across the chasm and grasped each other, holding tightly onto the one other person in the world they both felt might indeed love them unconditionally.

But that was last night. If this relationship was going to work at all, if they were going to move forward, they both needed to be brutally honest with each other and with themselves; because the only thing that could stand in their way was their mutual refusal to deal with their own inner demons and move on from them.

Cuddy looked longingly at the shower's tile bench where just a few hours ago, she and House had come together as one. Their physical connection had been profound. And the fact that they had touched each other so deeply reflected an inner desire on both their parts to finally move forward emotionally as well.

She stepped from the shower and dried herself with a thick, blue towel. Cuddy had always been a force to be reckoned with in the professional arena. Yet, she had never been called upon to exercise that strength in her personal life. Perhaps because she'd never had to before or maybe because the men in her life hadn't been worth her effort?

Now she had chosen to be with House and for all his foibles and idiosyncratic behaviors, she knew, without a doubt, he was worth it. He was worth being in her life. She in turn, was worthy of his love.

And he was worthy of hers. There, looming before her glaringly was the main hurdle to their collective happiness; House's inability to accept that simple fact. Cuddy knew instinctively that she would need all her determination and strength to fight for their relationship, to fight _for_ him and probably most often _against_ him, to prove that their love was worth the effort, to prove that he _could_ be loved.

They needed to talk and clear the air. And they needed to do it right now.

Cuddy threw her robe over her slim shoulders, tying the belt in a knot at her navel. She marched out into her master bedroom only to stop short just in front of the bed.

House was lying on his back, sound asleep, but not peacefully so. He was thrashing about, obviously in the grip of some ghastly nightmare. And the sounds that were emanating from his throat made her blood run cold.

Grunts and soft whimpering cries, like a puppy being suffocated, kept breaking the silence in the room. She knew he needed to be woken up. But how? If she touched him, he might overreact and rise up swinging. Could she talk loudly enough to help shake him from his dreams?

While Cuddy was debating her options, House suddenly stilled. She stepped closer to the bed to see that his eyes looked slightly open but were not registering anything in front of him. He was still asleep. Or he was in a catatonic state.

She walked to his side of the bed and called his name several times, each time more loudly than the last. He was not going to wake up just from the sound of her voice.

Cuddy reached out her hand to touch him on his shoulder. She noticed how much the fingers trembled the nearer she got to him. Her hand brushed his arm as she prepared herself to jump back.

House did not flail out as he awoke. He did something even more disturbing. Through his lips passed a wail that sounded to Cuddy as if it was the last anguished shriek of a doomed spirit. The hair rose on the back of her neck and her arms erupted in gooseflesh as House continued to roll his head round, eventually opening his eyes wide. She could tell by their glazed look, however, that he was still not completely awake. She loudly called his name again.

Coming slowly back to consciousness, House was shaking and couldn't stop. It was as if everything, not only from the past 24 hours but from the past 24-plus years had finally caught up to him. He tried to slip from Cuddy's grasp that had reconnected with his shoulder.

"House, what is it?"

"Nothing," he answered sharply, unable to control the quaver in his voice.

Cuddy sat down on the bed. She was staring at him intently and he closed his eyes under her scrutinizing gaze.

She placed her hand upon his chest and he nearly moaned in pain at the contact. It felt as if all the nerve endings in his body had been burned, charred from the heat of his terrible, aching need and his overwhelming fears.

Cuddy felt his body shift under her gentle touch. She could feel the increased speed of the rise and fall of his chest and his heart thudded against his rib cage as if it would explode.

"House," she said as she moved her hand to his face and began stroking his careworn, stubbled features. "House, open your eyes and look at me."

He could think of no way out of this situation, no escape. So he did as she commanded.

Cuddy gasped slightly when he did so and at the emotions so clearly reflected in the depths of his eyes.

House reacted to her gasp by immediately closing his eyes again. He wrenched himself away from her touch, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"House, where are you going?"

He didn't know how to answer her question because he didn't know the answer himself. He also wasn't confident his leg would hold his weight either since it had notched up the intense pain he usually felt there by several decibels.

Sure enough, as he tried to stand, his right leg collapsed beneath him, throwing him forward on his knees. Cuddy ran round the bed and placed her hands on his shoulders, trying to decide where the best leverage might be to help him to his feet.

"Get back!" he yelled as he reached his arm out to grasp the side of the bed, pulling himself backward to a sitting position on the floor.

Cuddy had leapt away from him at his directive, turning to hide the look of torment on her face. When she turned to face him once again, she was utterly shocked by the sight that now met her eyes.

House was leaning against the bed, shaking uncontrollably and breathing hard. He'd rested his head back against the top of the mattress and tears flowed freely down his ashen face.

Cuddy was torn between protecting herself, her own heart, and reaching out to House once more. His tears tipped the balance.

"House, for God's sake, don't shut me out again. Not again." Her last statement came out cracked as she too finally gave in to her tears.

House bowed his head forward. "You were right last year Cuddy. You were right. Anyone who gets close to me . . . gets hurt."

He opened his eyes and looked up at her, the blood rising to his tear stained cheeks. "Save Rachel. Save yourself." His voice lowered until it was barely a hoarse whisper. "Just . . . stay away from me. Please."


	13. Chapter 13

Final chapter as this was always planned to be only a short story. Thank you, all of you, who have followed along and especially those of you who shared your kind words in your positive reviews.

If you liked this story at all, may I humbly suggest you read my other baby, "Parallel Lines" my very first fanfic ever? And remember, positive reviews truly are warming coals to the winter of the creative soul. I just made that up. Cool huh?

A special thank you to ParadoxHugh who allowed me to create this story to satisfy the cravings of her tender Huddy heart. I just wanted to write something to help you pass the time and, in some small way, make you feel better my friend. Thanks for putting up with my cynicism and my very Housian ways. You are one of the few who realize that it is only a thin veneer hiding my romantic soul. My thoughts are with you and for your speedy recovery. Cheers.

Cuddy knelt at House's side. Was this why they had remained in each other's orbits for so many years? Their energies collided, then repelled each other like two highly charged atoms in a particle accelerator. And like the atoms, their volatility charted and defined their responses to one another.

Yet Cuddy always assumed that it was House's mercurial nature that made him change his mind about having a relationship with her. Or perhaps, his need to protect himself and his heart was the impetus for avoiding any true exchange between them.

But not this, she had never expected this. Cuddy had naturally taken House at his word whenever he stated that self-sacrifice was not part of his character. But like a broken record, House's own voice whispered through her mind, raking her heart as his words echoed through her soul. _"Everybody lies." _

For here he was before her now, willing to banish himself back to his life of misery and loneliness, all in a misguided attempt to protect her, to protect Rachel. So she had to see, had to know, to prove it to herself if this was his reason, if it could be true.

She inched forward on her knees, stretching out her hand to touch his shoulder. He flinched at the initial contact yet she did not take her hand away. Instead, she began to stroke his neck, raising her fingers to finally, gently brush his face.

He moaned and tried to turn his head away but Cuddy followed his movement with her hand, refusing to break their connection.

Finally she spoke quietly to him. "All right House, all right." Her voice broke again but she fought to keep control. "If this is what you want . . ." His head jerked as she continued, "But you need to tell me that you don't . . . you have to say it to me. Just tell me that you don't . . . love me."

House was looking at the floor. As his lips parted, Cuddy spoke again, "Look at me House. Look me in the eye and tell me, tell me . . ."

Her fingers flew to her mouth to stifle her uncontrolled sob. She closed her eyes for a moment, only a moment and opened them again to see House looking at her quite steadily.

"I don't . . .," he began.

Cuddy stopped breathing. Her mind grew suddenly blank as she closed her eyes once more, focusing on her own heartbeat. It pounded in her ears like a powerful bass drum enveloped by a thick wool blanket.

If he was going to do this, break it off before they'd even started, if he was really going to do this, she had to see his eyes. She intuitively knew that everything he felt, everything he said and everything he meant to say would be reflected there.

She slowly opened her blue-grey eyes to see that House's sapphire gaze had never faltered.

"I don't want you or Rachel to get hurt," he said.

She let out a breath that she hadn't been aware of holding. "The only way you can hurt us right now is to give up on _us_ before you've even given _us_ a chance. Won't you please, just give us a chance? All of us. I'm not just talking for me or for Rachel," Cuddy said quietly as she began tracing the lines in the beloved, stubbled cheek. "Give yourself a chance, just one chance . . . to finally be happy."

She saw the doubt and fear in House's eyes, the pain and anguish clearly revealing his sense of unworthiness stemming from what horrors in his past, she knew not what. But gradually, as she continued caressing his face, the overwhelming love that he could no longer hide nor deny shone out more strongly than any other emotion in his restless soul.

"Okay," he said simply.

With that nominal, one-word answer House communicated so much. He was, in fact, daring to hope that he, the ultimate cynic, could indeed be happy. That he could make someone else, actually two someones happy, or that at least, he was willing to try.

"Now was that so hard?' Cuddy asked smiling.

"You've no idea."

Her hand stopped its movements to grasp his face bringing it close to her own. She took the initiative again, moving her mouth to his, kissing him softly and then more deeply.

Cuddy may have thought she was leading this portion of their dance but House was only a step behind. And with an impressive flourish, he quickly turned the tables to take the lead himself.

Their lips never parted as he haltingly slid up onto the bed, bracing himself against the mattress in order to gain the necessary leverage to pull Cuddy up with him.

He was drowning again, but this time, not in pain and despair but in love and desire. House sought to blanket himself in the scent of her hair and skin, swathe himself in the warmth of her body and the way her flesh rippled with pleasure as he heard her sweet voice grow louder with her increasing need for him.

Cuddy allowed herself to be pulled up and onto House's reclining form. She felt the muscles in his chest and arms guide her onto his lap where the heat of his desire and the rigidity of his erection made her moan in anticipation.

She couldn't wait to experience him again, feel him filling her so completely as they moved in tandem once more.

Her robe was easily shed revealing the soft, alabaster flesh. Cuddy's hands grappled with House's t-shirt and pajamas in her rush to expose his sensuous lean body to her senses as they tumbled together, legs, arms and torsos all tangling collectively in their haste to become one.

And then she heard it. Over her own heavy breathing and excited whimpers, a strange sound. Though strange, there was music in it. Though unfamiliar, it was comforting. The sound seemed to travel through her. Like fine wine, it flowed through her very veins, warming her from her face to her fingertips to her feet, intoxicating her senses as it also heated them.

As she felt the flush of blood to her cheeks, she raised her head. House was laughing softly. His body gently vibrated with every exhalation.

"In a hurry, aren't we?" he said still chuckling.

"Aren't you?"

"No," he said turning suddenly serious. He reached up to cup her face in his hands as he solemnly looked at her. "I want this moment to go on forever. I wish it would never end."

And then he kissed her.

His kiss was light yet deep, earthy yet sacrosanct and Cuddy realized that this was the dichotomy that was House, this man she had fallen so hopelessly in love with.

He was, and always would be both dark and light, mysterious yet open, egotistical yet self-effacing, miserable yet euphoric, all sharing space equally with his brilliant mind, beautiful eyes, loving, fragile heart.

And it was then that she realized that with all the power in the world at her command, even if she could change him, she would not.

She took hold of him, guiding him inside her already wet entrance in a smooth, deliberate push as she lowered her body onto his. They both held their breath for a moment. And they both released their breaths at the same time in a long, conjoined sigh. This was how it was and how it should be, for in their mutual vulnerability and connection they knew that neither would ever again be complete without the other.

Cuddy rode him slowly, drawing out each stroke languorously with the rhythm of her hips. She inclined her head back as her breathing became labored. She closed her eyes, drinking in the sensations of his lovemaking as the familiar tingling pooled deep in her womb and began to course through her legs and arms.

House had been saying her name and moaning softly, driving her on with his voice and the rhythm of his grinding hips. She was making every nerve in his body vibrate like piano wire as his melodious chords sought instinctively for her harmony to join him.

The sudden cessation of sound, however, made Cuddy stop to tilt her head forward, opening her eyes to look at him. He lay beneath her, a look of deep yearning overlaying the handsome features of his face. But his eyes, his beautiful eyes were once again totally focused on her.

"Say it again," he said almost breathlessly while still boring his eyes through her. "I _need_ you to say it again."

There was no need for explanation. They were connected in every way possible, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. She knew what he meant, what he needed, what he wanted to hear. So she said it, the satisfaction of giving him everything he wanted making her smile seductively.

"I love you. I love _you_ Gregory House."

They came together in a roiling, heat intensive, timeless moment of ecstasy that, though timeless, changed them for all time.

Cuddy collapsed onto his chest as they both allowed their bodies and their breathing to slow and normalize.

House found her white shell of an ear pressing near to his lips. With his voice still husky from vocalizing his throes of passion, he whispered into it, "I love you too. I always have. I always will."

She turned her face to kiss him, her tears wetting her cheeks, as House realized that he had somehow allowed faith to pierce the darkness of his soul and touch his heart. Perhaps there was a chance for him, for _them_ to be happy. And perhaps in some way, he even deserved that chance.

All House knew was that to love and be loved seemed to him like rain in the desert; that even though it was highly improbable, it was now, with Lisa Cuddy and Rachel at his side, no longer completely impossible.


End file.
